MINE 1 (7 page)

Luc

Being the kind of man that I am—yes, a controlling, paranoid bastard—I decide to go to the school and get my kid. When I get there to see him waiting on the steps with the principal securely holding his hand, I feel a thousand times better and release the breath I’ve been holding since my woman phoned me.

I know why this is happening, and the knowledge that my vendetta against Wesley Munro has caused this makes acid churn in my belly. I’d contacted his new wife, a very nice woman by the name of Priscilla, and told her the whole sordid truth about his abandonment and theft.

Of course she’d been horrified, and by the end of the call I’d given her a cool quarter million to get her and her son started elsewhere and on the road to a divorce.

Then I’d gone at the man like a shark scenting blood and ripped the rug out from under him. He no longer had a home or the fledgling landscaping business he’d sunk half of my woman’s money into.

I left him with only the clothes on his back and whatever money he had in his wallet.

Seemed only fair, since he’d royally screwed with what I consider mine.

Now he’s out for revenge, and he’s trying to use my family to get it. Well, fuck him! I take care of what’s mine, and when it comes to my family he’d better believe he’s going to suffer for this move.

“Hey, Luc, what’s up?”

“Nothing, lad. I just thought we could play hooky and give Ashley another swimming lesson today. Maybe we can even convince her to let us have ice cream before lunch.”

He babbles the whole way home, his little face excited at the prospect of cutting school and teasing his sister for the rest of the day.

I watch him bound from the car and through the door with an enthusiasm that only the young can possess and follow him in, calling for my wife as I drop my briefcase and make my way to the kitchen, ready to soothe her fears and do what a husband should.

Take care of business.

The sight that greets me when I walk in stops me dead in my tracks, leaching the color from my skin and nearly sending me to my knees.

Glass everywhere. The remains of the chocolate cake she’d promised me this morning littering the floor and smeared over the counter and refrigerator.

Blood, streaking the bottom half of the kitchen island, looking suspiciously like the delicate handprint of my wife.

I roar, long and loud, my rage unstoppable, knowing that searching the house will be useless.

My wife is gone.

# End of Part One #

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